


Risky Behavior

by hit_the_books



Series: Blood and Gold [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drugs, F/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Substance Abuse, Vaginal Sex, Voyeur Dean, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This part takes place between season nine episodes "Sharp Teeth" and "The Purge".</p><p>You're an alchemist, perhaps one of the most gifted of this age. You've been in a relationship with Sam Winchester for over a month now, living with him in the Bunker. You've been trying to make things work, but with everything that's been happening, you've been finding it hard to maintain your relationship with Sam.</p><p>But when Sam learns of what you've been doing to yourself, the two of you try to make things okay, find a bit of normal. But normal doesn't like you.</p><p>Expect angst, unseemly situations and at least one board game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coping Mechanisms

Outside the bunker, you sat by the side of the road and looked at the town below. You had combats, boots and a hooded-zipped-jacket on , which you’d pulled closely around yourself against the morning chill. Sam hadn’t come back from his run yet and you couldn’t stand the way Dean kept looking at you when you were in the same room together. Shit had gone down hill pretty fast once the pair of them had returned from seeing to their friend Garth. You couldn’t calm yourself on the shooting range or mixing things up from the chest and taking them. Things were tense. Stupidly tense.

Whether it was Sam finally telling you about Gadreel and the fact that technically, an angel had been possessing him when you’d first been together; the news that Garth had become a werewolf and the guys didn’t tell you and help you with your research into dealing with your grandfather’s killer, by putting you in touch… or the way Dean smelled different now and you could feel the changes slowly bubbling within him and when Sam had told you to drop asking questions about the Mark on Dean’s arm…

The town was slowly coming to life at your feet. It was still early and the air was clean. Outside was calming compared to the stuffiness of the Bunker. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do, but you know you are, at most, two heated conversations away from showing both brothers that they shouldn’t underestimate you and your intelligence… and what you held in your wooden chest.

Despite the earthy scents filling your nostrils, you smell Sam before you hear or see him. His musk carries far. You don’t shift as Sam’s pounding running shoes come closer, but a part of you does hope that he will see you and run up to you. Sam’s feet slow and you hear his steps approach where you’re sat at the side of the road.

“Y/N?” Sam asks, his voice uncertain as he steps beside you, his breathing fast.

“Sam,” you reply plainly.

Sam crouches down beside you, gently touching your jaw and then turns your face towards his. Reluctantly, you look up into his face, glistening with sweat from his run. If this had been a few weeks ago, maybe you would have just driven your lips onto his without a thought, but now you were almost constantly angry. Dean had already made the mistake of saying it was hormones and you’d swiftly bitten his head off, so to speak.

But now, as Sam looks into your eyes, a part of you wonders about the effects of the elixir that you’ve drunk and inscribed into your skin. There was a lot of material out there about ways (only one method worked) to try and create the Philosopher’s Stone and using it to create the Elixir of Life and using it to turn base metals into gold, but little on the long-term effects of drinking the Elixir or… breaking off a little piece of your soul in order to make the Philosopher's Stone in the first place.

Sam sits down beside you on the side of the road, his breathing beginning to slow down to normal. He still looks at you and you at him. A part of you registers that the expression on his face probably means that he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But you’re not ready to share - yet.

“Everything looks so normal, down there,” you say, turning away from Sam. You feel the heat still radiating from him as he cools down.

“Yeah,” Sam replies. You feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. Feel him trying to figure out the thoughts running around inside your head. The recent trespasses just keep playing out to you and you’re wondering whether you should just pack up and head home to the store and leave the Winchesters to their messes.

You get up from the side of the road without any further words for Sam, and start striding towards the door to the Bunker. You’re thinking of packing your things, putting on your new biking leathers and hitting the road, without little to no explanation of what you’re doing. Just like all the times the guys have left you in the Bunker.

Pulling the door open, you ignore Sam trying to catch up with your surprisingly quick strides. You make it as far as the top of the stairs in the incident room. You register Dean sat at the table, pouring through newspapers then Sam grabs you from behind.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sam tries, but fails to whisper. Dean looks up at the pair of you.

The pressure of Sam’s hand on your upper right arm hurts a little, but you don’t look back at him. You do the math. You know that if you shrug him off and pace down the stairs, Sam will just rush behind you, and Dean will probably - looking at the expression on his face - try to intercept you at the bottom. You think back to how quickly you healed when you’d dealt with the ghost in Missouri, it was pretty fast and you’d drunk more Elixir since...

You shrug free of Sam’s grip, but rather than rush down the stairs as both brothers are clearly expecting, you grip the side of the metal banister at the top of the stairs with both hands and with one swift movement pull yourself over it and launch yourself into the air. As you fall, you hear both Sam and Dean scream your name, but you ignore them as you hit the floor and roll, thinking nothing of the pain of crunching bones and the sudden sensation of them knitting back together.

Dean is first towards you, but the breaks and fractures are already healed and you dodge out of the way of his outstretched arms. Adrenaline pumping through your body, you bolt towards where you last left your chest. You’re not leaving without it, or your leathers. You sprint towards Sam’s room, ignoring the brothers’ cries that chase after you.

You reach Sam’s bedroom door before the guys catch up to you, and quickly lock it behind you and push a chest of drawers in front of it. You grab your leathers and pull them on - the guys reach the door and begin trying to open it and hammer on it - your helmet is next. Finding a spare rucksack, you grab your notebooks and a few clothes, closing the bag and slinging it on your left shoulder, you grab the chest from a side unit and then face towards the door. You palm a pouch from your leathers into your left hand.

And then you wait, standing in front of the door and the chest. It’s not long before a weird version of The Shining is playing out and Dean is taking chunks out of Sam’s door with an axe and then the chest of draws.

Together, Sam and Dean push the mangled wood out of the way and look at you as they stumble breathlessly into Sam’s bedroom. You hold the pouch aloft.

“Back off,” you growl, menacingly, loud enough for the guys to hear through your helmet.

“Look, I don’t know what’s wrong,” Sam pleads, his hands held up in supplication, “But can’t we talk about it?”

You narrow your eyes and consider Sam: a part of you wants to stay, but most of you, the newer part, the part that’s grown sick of not talking wants to go and be done. “But that’s the problem, Sam,” you growl, “when we talk we never really talk and I’ve had enough.

“So both you and Dean can step back and let me leave or else,” you let the threat hang there. Sam and Dean look between each other and then lunge towards you.

Dean snatches at your left hand and grabs the pouch from it, disarming you. Sam swings round to your right to get the chest off of you, but you allow the chest to drop and painfully land on Sam’s left foot, still only dressed in a running shoe, but Sam doesn’t cry out.

Both of your arms are held by the brothers and you pull and strain against their collective grip. You pull and bend in ways that no normal person would, because it would do permanent damage, and Sam and Dean suddenly let go in shock as they hear the sickening sound of you breaking your own arms. The pain means nothing to you, because it leaves quickly and you grab the chest, bones knitting, and run from the shocked brothers.

“Y/N!” Sam shouts after you, as you pound your way through the Bunker and head towards the garage.

*

You’re on the road, the Bunker half a mile behind you, your bright green Kawasaki thrumming between your legs, when you see Castiel standing in the middle of the road, right hand outstretched. You play chicken. Cas doesn’t move.

There’s a light.

Then there’s darkness and your thoughts disappear.


	2. Dosed

The splintered wood had been cleared from Sam’s room and Dean was already working on sorting out a new door for Sam. A spare chest of drawers had been pulled out of storage and Sam had put his things in it… but not before exclaiming at the small pile of gold bars that had been placed near the chest of drawers. Dean had been with Sam when they made that small discovery.

“Did Y/N make these?” Dean had asked, his voice a little high.

“I guess so,” Sam had replied, frowning and beginning to realise that he hadn’t really been paying attention to Y/N since Dean had returned to the Bunker.

“What did she need with a pile of gold?”

“I don’t know, Dean, I don’t know…”

Now walking into his bedroom, Sam looked over at Cas who was sat beside Sam’s bed, on a chair they’d brought in from the library. Y/N was in the bed, covered up, a cold flannel on her forehead, unconscious and burning up.

“Have you been able to help her?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding like he would fall to pieces at any moment.

“No, I’m concerned how she would react, there is much here.” Castiel looks at the chest by his feet. It had taken Castiel over an hour to shift the chest from Y/N’s motorcycle to Sam’s bedroom. “Sam, do you know what is the nature of this chest?”

Sam nodded yes and bent down beside it, “But only Y/N can open it… it has alchemical components inside.”

Cas looked between the chest and between the form of Y/N in the bed. Sam got out of the way as Cas stood up and then scooted down to pick up the chest. Sam hadn’t watched Cas carry the chest before, but it was strange seeing the angel struggle with it. Slowly but surely, Cas lifted the chest onto the bed and Sam watched what passed for surprise from Cas when the chest barely sank into the bed.

Sam got what Cas was getting at and he gently pulled back the bed sheets and found Y/N’s left hand and got it to gently stroke the top of the chest. The intricate carvings moved under Y/N’s unconscious touch and then the chest lid popped open. Cas levered the chest open further and Sam stood beside the angel, having put Y/N’s arm gently back under the sheets, and together they peered inside the chest.

“Oh god,” Sam muttered reflexively as he looked at the messy contents of the chest. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it in such a state before, but now he felt his stomach uncomfortably churn at the horror of what he saw.

Among used vials of morphine, a bag of speed (Sam tasted a tiny bit of it before feeling his heart begin to race), Sam saw used hypodermic needles, several torniquetes, something that looked suspiciously like more mescaline, bottles of substances that he couldn’t pronounce the latin labels of which were in varying states of mess… an opium pipe and a pot of opium. Then his eyes fell on a particular bottle, filled with a red liquid - ‘Blood, but from who or what?’ Sam wondered to himself. He found himself slowly reaching out to the bottle and pulling it out of the chest, feeling its weight, and then holding it close to his face.

Sam licked his lips. Cas saw how Sam was looking at the blood and gently reached out to him.

“Sam,” Cas said, “Give that to me.”

Without speaking, Sam gave the bottle of blood to Cas, and continued, carefully, rooting around the rest of the chest’s contents. There was the sound of Dean grunting slightly in the hallway outside and Sam turned to his brother walk up to his bedroom carrying a new door.

Putting the door down against the hallway wall, Dean walked into Sam’s room and nodded at Sam and Y/N in Sam’s bed.

“She woken up at all?” Dean asked, concern in his voice.

“No,” Sam replied and then pointed to the chest open on the bed. “Y/N has been using some pretty heavy stuff, Dean. I can’t imagine a normal person using all of this and living.”

Dean went and leaned between Cas and Sam, looking inside the chest. “Is that… speed?” Dean asked, pointing at the white powder in a bag.

“I think so,” Sam said. “No wonder she was acting all… whacked out. I mean, if she’s been mixing with this and her alchemical ingredients and taking it, and what with the Elixir...”

“Y’know, she’s hardly left the bunker. How did she get all of this… do you think that’s what the gold was being used to pay for?” Dean asked, stepping away from Sam’s bed, putting his hands through his hair, clearly stressed.

Sam backed away from the bed as Dean approached Cas and looked at the bottle of blood being held in Cas’s right hand. “And is that… demon blood?” Dean asked, looking at Sam’s reaction - the deep swallows, the wetting of his lips.

“Yes,” Cas answered.

“Fuck,” Dean said. “But that doesn’t answer where she got all of this from or why she was taking any of it.”

Sam went over to Y/N’s rucksack and eventually found her cell. He began looking through Y/N’s message history and then found a string of messages between Y/N and Crowley.

“I think,” Sam said as he started reading the messages between Y/N and Crowley, “she was taking it because of all that’s been happening… things have been different.”

“Shit.”

“And as to who was her supplier is,” Sam handed the phone over to Dean.

**666: Meet me at the usual at 1am.**

**Me: Sure, payment as per?**

**666: Course.**

There were dozens of messages, all variations of this.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” Dean growled, handing Y/N’s cell back to Sam, who pocketed it.

“Not before I do,” Sam said coldly. “Cas?” Sam asked, his tone warming, “Would you be able to watch over Y/N?”

Cas nodded. “Things are… quiet at the moment. I shouldn’t be needed for a while.”

“Dean, you get what we need, I need to shower and change,” Sam said, looking down at his running kit.

 

 


	3. What Dreams Are Made Of

You’re stood outside, looking at the town below. The air is sweet with the scent of honeysuckle. You look behind you at the entrance to the Bunker, wondering if you really want to go back inside. The sun is high and you feel good. You feel at peace, in a way that you haven’t felt in weeks.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice calls and you turn to find Sam standing in front of you. His long brown hair is being ruffled slightly in a warm breeze, as is the plaid shirt he’s wearing over an old band shirt. There’s a million dollar smile on his lips and you walk up to him, wrapping your arms around Sam’s torso and pushing yourself up against him.

Breathing in Sam, his musk, the hint of old books, a hint of spinach and something you don’t quite recognise or can name, but you ignore it. Instead you close your eyes and groan slightly into Sam’s chest.

“Miss me?” Sam asks.

You nod yes into Sam’s t-shirt, before standing on tip toes and pushing your lips up against his. Your lips move together, teasing, before you bite Sam’s bottom lip playfully and then push your tongue into his mouth, dominating his tongue. Sam groans into your mouth and you taste a slight hint of whiskey, but think nothing of it.

Pulling away from Sam’s lips, you lace the fingers of your right hand with Sam’s left and start leading him towards the Bunker. Sam doesn’t protest and follows you eagerly inside.

Still holding onto Sam, you lead him down through the incident room and all the way to his bedroom. For a moment you think you smell leather, but it passes, as you nuzzle your face once more into Sam’s chest. You push Sam down onto his bed and then clamber on top of him, straddling his hips.

Through your combat trousers you can feel Sam getting hard, as you grind into him while kissing him under his jaw and down his neck. You feel the vibrations of Sam’s groans on your lips as you move. Feeling warm, you lean back and strip off your tops before making your way down to Sam’s lips again.

Deciding that he’s wearing too many clothes, in between kisses, you strip Sam of his shirts and then begin placing kisses on his pecs. Working your way to his left nipple you gently bite it and swirl the blooming bud with your tongue, all while still gently grinding into Sam.

“Please,” Sam whimpers. A smirk on your face as you get off of Sam, you begin stripping him of his, boots, socks, jeans and underwear, freeing his cock. You notice how Sam seems to get harder as you stare at his naked body while removing the rest of your own clothes. You drink in the sight of him, his face looking up at you with desire and lust.

Moving closer to Sam, you shift him over into the middle of the bed, but rather than go back to kissing, you clamber onto the bed and Sam, offering your aching core to Sam’s hungry mouth while you ease yourself towards Sam’s hard cock, pre-cum beginning to leak from it.

“Oh, Y/N,” Sam moans as you begin to lick at the head of his dick, your right hand gripping on to the rest of its length, starting to pump it. Sam pushes himself up on one arm and begins to lick you out, his tongue working furiously between your folds before digging into your aching hole.

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” you groan on to Sam’s cock as your tongue continues to tease it.

You stay like this for several minutes, groaning, before you can no longer stop thrusting towards Sam’s face and Sam can no longer stop his hips from pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You stop sucking and teasing Sam and make one simple request.

“Doggy,” you half groan, half growl.

Sam crawls out from under you as you push your chest against the bed, holding tightly onto the sheets, while raising your ass up in the air. Before pushing himself inside you, Sam fingers you gently and rubs your juices on his cock.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice thick and needy.

“Yes!” You gasp.

Sam’s hands grab onto your hips and he slowly pushes himself inside of you, slowly filling you up. The pressure feels good, and you push back onto Sam, desperate for him to begin his thrusts. Getting the message, Sam holds on to your hips and begins to pump you, the friction inside of you feeling just right, and then Sam sneaks a hand down to your clit and begins rubbing it.

“Sam,” you moan, your cheeks flushed, unable to believe how much you need him inside you like this.

“Y/N,” Sam moans back, his thrusts intensifying and his fingers becoming more desperate on your clit.

“Gonna-” you growl into the bed sheets and then shiver around Sam’s cock as an orgasm rocks through your core. Your pulsing sides and insistence on pushing into Sam send him over the edge.

“MMMMMMMMnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhh!” Sam cries, coming hard and continuing to thrust in order to ride it out.

Reluctantly, Sam pulls himself out of you and motions at you to turn around and crawl up to the head of the bed. You oblige and fall into Sam’s waiting arms. You nuzzle Sam’s chest, and he traces the anti-possession tattoo near your heart.

“Are you good?” Sam asks, still tracing your tattoo.

“Yes,” you reply, pulling the bed sheets up on you cooling bodies. Feeling tired, you yawn. “Mmm, need a few minutes.”

“Hey, if you need a nap, have a nap. I’m not going anywhere, this feels too good.”

“I love you,” you say to Sam.

“I love you too.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and pulls you a little closer. Feeling safe, you begin to drift off, the scent of leather suddenly filling your nostrils, but you don’t wake.


	4. Watching Over You

Dean watched as Y/N drew in another deep, long breath. The flannel was no longer on her forehead, but Dean was finding it difficult not to let newly formed thoughts of guilt from eating at him. He looked away. He couldn’t stop thinking how it was partially his fault that Sam hadn’t been around, and how it was him who’d not let Y/N know about Garth. He felt bad that he’d been bossing Sam to keep Y/N out of the loop about the Mark and how it all seemed to have driven Y/N to take desperate measures.

When Sam had summoned Crowley, Dean had restrained himself, the need for Crowley to find the First Blade being the one thing that stopped him from letting loose on the King of Hell. Though he was surprised that Crowley had bothered showing, communication had been thin on the ground.

There’s a rustling sound and Dean looks over at Y/N again, noticing that she’s gently rocking in her sleep. Thinking that she’s having a nightmare, Dean gets up and tries to stroke Y/N’s head to calm her.

Crowley had been difficult to read when he’d appeared. Dean couldn’t tell if Crowley was still using human blood, but the demon had seemed a little remorseful that his business deals with Y/N had backfired so badly. Sam hadn’t been standing for any of it, and Dean had to restrain his brother at one point. But beyond berating Crowley, there wasn’t much else he could do.

“She’s been shooting-up,” Crowley had observed, “so there’s no point in giving her a bezoar. You’ll just have to let the little darling sweat it out.” Then he was gone.

Now Sam was out looking for anything that could help detox Y/N, while Dean kept watch over her, Cas having had to go and deal with business of his own. ‘It’s funny,’ Dean thought to himself as he gently caressed Y/N’s head, ‘We keep kidding ourselves that she’ll stay safe being out of the loop and twice now it’s gone to hell.’

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” Y/N mutters in her sleep. Dean looked more closely at Y/N, noticing that Y/N was now… moving her lips in her sleep, while thrusting her hips gently.... and her right hand was…

“Fuck,” Dean uttered, jumping back from Y/N in the bed, having realised that she’s getting herself off.

“Uh, Y/N?” Dean asked loudly, hoping Y/N will wake up. Not that anything had woken her up previously.

Y/N continued to get herself off. The groans becoming louder and louder, her hand movements under the sheet more desperate and needy. Dean felt awkward and turned on. A part of him knew that he should just leave the room until Y/N finished up, but his feet and brain weren’t talking. Instead, Dean tried not groan as his dick got hard and his desire to peek at what Y/N was doing to herself increased.

Again, part of Dean’s brain desperately tried to remind him that Y/N was with Sam, but as precum leaked onto his underwear and increased his sensitivity, Dean was seriously wondering if Sam would share. He wanted to touch Y/N so badly and help her out, but Dean just about managed to hold himself back. But it was difficult.

Dean, deciding that he couldn’t stand being in the same room and doing nothing anymore, figured that Y/N would be safe in Sam’s bed. Dean ran down the hall to his own room, so that he could relieve himself, praying that Sam didn’t just show up.

*

“Dean?” Sam’s voiced called from his room. Dean quickly finished cleaning himself up, zipped up his jeans and waltzed out into the hallway.

“Sorry,” Dean called, sheepishly, “I was just looking for something in my room.”

Sam frowned at Dean, and asked if everything had been fine with Y/N while he was out.

“Oh yeah, everything has been fine, absolutely fine,” Dean replied, a little too eagerly.

Dean studied Sam’s face in the dim light and knew that Sam knew that something had happened. “Fine,” Sam said, still eyeing Dean with suspicion, “can you go and boil some water and bring it to my room?”

“Uh, sure,” Dean replied then started walking to the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered to himself as he walked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Reaching the kitchen, Dean quickly washed his hands and then pulled out a pan and filled it with water. His hands shook while he placed the pan on the stove and began to heat it up. Wiping his hand down his face, Dean tried to get a handle on himself, but the memory of Y/N rocking out in Sam’s bed was proving difficult to shift. What Dean really wanted was to go and take a cold shower, but instead he waited for the water to boil.

*

The vapours of whatever Sam had put into the pan were strong. The only smell Dean recognised was a hint of spearmint, which was ruined by the noxious odours of whatever else had been added to the pan, placed on a counter in Sam’s bedroom. Dean’s eyes were streaming, as were Sam’s.

“What the hell is this stuff, Sam?”

Wiping his eyes, Sam answered, “It’s based on a remedy from the sixteenth century. One of the Men of Letters swore by it in their journal. You don’t want to know what’s in it.”

“Do I really have to be here?” Dean asked, still wanting to have a cold shower.

“I need back-up if she bolts again.”

Dean studied the peaceful, very asleep, so not bolting, face of Y/N. “Sure, Sam, whatever makes you feel safe,” Dean teased.

“Fine, if you have somewhere to be, Dean…”

Dean ignored the scowl Sam gave him, stepped out of his brother’s bedroom and hollered, “Yell if you need me.”

Before Sam could say anything else, Dean strode quickly down the hallway, heading for the showers.


	5. Daylight

It was a day since Y/N had blacked out. Sam was slumped in a chair beside his bed, a book fallen to his lap, his mouth leaking a trail of drool over his right shoulder. Sam wasn’t dreaming, but his sleep was deep.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice echoed into Sam’s consciousness, startling Sam enough that he fell out of the chair.

Sam looked up at Dean, as he wiped the drool from his face, “What?” Sam asked, still groggy.

“Coffee?” Sam tried to ignore the smile on Dean’s face as he scrambled up from the floor.

“Coffee.” Sam replied and Dean smiled and nodded. Sam climbed up to a standing position as Dean’s boots echoed down the hallway.

Looking over at Y/N, Sam couldn’t help but frown at her still sleeping form. Bending over her, Sam put the back of his cool, left hand against Y/N’s forehead.

“Well at least your fever is gone,” Sam said, pushing your hair off of your face before sitting back down beside the bed. Picking up the book that he’d been reading before dozing off, Sam tries to find where he got to when he hears -

“Sam?”

“Hey, you’re awake,” Sam said gently as he dropped the book again, and leaned over Y/N.

Looking at Y/N, Sam frowned at her bloodshot eyes, before breaking out a grateful smile. Y/N pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around Sam’s room.

“New drawers?” Y/N asked.

Concern flooding his voice, Sam asked, “You don’t remember yesterday?”

“I remember I woke up while you were out on your run and I went out for some air and, and…” Sam studied Y/N’s face, and accepted that she really didn’t remember what she’d done the previous day.

“Did you,” Sam struggled to think of the best way to ask, “um, take anything before you went outside?”

The pained look Y/N gave Sam, the guilt bubbling there, was heartbreaking for Sam to see. He decided he’d wait to see if Y/N would tell him anything, rather than pushing her further for information.

Silence.

“Here’s your coffee,” Dean’s voice called out, “Did y- hey, Y/N, you’re back with us. Di-” Sam gave Dean a look and the pair of them stalked out of Sam’s bedroom.

“Dean, she doesn’t remember what happened yesterday,” Sam whispered just outside the door.

Dean handed Sam his coffee. “Nothing?”

“Just waking up, going outside… Look, do you mind giving us a moment?”

“Sure, sure.”

Sam walked back inside his room and called to Dean, “Could you get Y/N some water?”

“Yep.” The sound of Dean’s retreating feet echoed once more down the hallway.

Y/N was studying Sam as he turned towards her. Sam could tell that she was wondering what she could tell him, what she might want to edit out.

“Look, we saw inside your chest,” Sam stated, sitting back down beside the bed.

“Oh.”

“We even called Crowley in.”

“Ah.”

“We can talk about this now.”

“We could…”

“Or we could not.” Sam reached out for Y/N’s left hand and clasped it in his hands. “I think I can guess why, maybe even understand it a little, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to be alone.”

Y/N pulled her hand out out of Sam’s and wrapped her arms around herself. “But that’s how I’ve felt, Sam - alone. You guys just keep on keeping me out of the loop. It’s like Missouri meant nothing to you and I didn’t want to leave, but it’s been hard staying.

“So, sorry, I fucked up a bit. Played with shit that I shouldn’t… But it’s not like I was going to die.”

Sam was trying to stay calm, but it was difficult. Y/N’s words were hurtful to hear and he still couldn’t tell if it was Y/N talking or the drugs. Sam moved from the chair to the bed and pulled Y/N’s left hand towards him. He held on tightly and said, “Don’t talk about yourself like that.

“You make it sound like you don’t matter. And you do, so I’m going to try harder, but please, please stop abusing yourself. Mescaline for a potion is one thing, but the rest of the stuff you’ve been using…”

Y/N’s hand tensed in Sam’s. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam replied, “Yesterday, you jumped from the entrance of the Bunker to the floor of the incident room, broke your arms and legs, but ignored the pain and kept on going. And then…”

Sam took another deep breath. The memory of trying to stop Y/N from leaving the bedroom ran through Sam’s head: the sound of bones crunching, the feeling of muscles and ligaments tearing under his hands. “And then you broke your arms on purpose to get away from Dean and me.

“We had to give Cas a call, to help stop you, once you started heading out for the highway.”

“I was out of it,” Y/N finally conceded.

“Ya think?” Sam snapped back, more harshly than he’d intended. Y/N pulled her hand away from Sam and scooted further away on the bed. Sam swore at himself, and moved his gaze to the floor.

The bedroom was once more filled with silence. Sam knew he was losing her, that it would take more than words to get Y/N to stay.

Y/N must have been thinking the same thing. “Okay, I promise not to dose myself again with enough crap to drop an elephant, but you have to keep me informed… And… and… And you finally, finally, take me out a damn date.”

Sam slapped his forehead. “We’ve never really been out on a date.”

“And I wanna get dressed up.”

Sam looked up at Y/N. She was looking back at him now, a hopeful smile on her face, though a  tear was streaking down her left cheek.

“We will dress up.”


	6. Glamour

Waking up and talking to Sam about what had happened, what had been happening… It had been one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but there was no point in tiptoeing quietly around the issues. Seeing that both of you were to blame was painful, but necessary, and you understood that.

Now, as you looked through the contents of your wardrobe, you were feeling something you’d hadn’t felt in a long time: you had the anxiety of so many pre-date jitters, the feeling that you had nothing to wear. Nothing. The symptoms of withdrawal had passed a few hours previously and Sam had booked a table in an upmarket steak house several towns over and had gone out to pick up a few things.

It wouldn’t be the Ritz, but looking through all the clean clothes that you have in the Bunker, it was very clear that you did not have anything of date quality. Going clean hadn’t suddenly updated your wardrobe.

Giving up for now, you head for the kitchen.

The kettle is beginning to whistle on the stove as you reach the kitchen and you rush over to take it off the heat. Shifting it to one side, you notice a nearby mug already prepped for tea. You smell Dean heading back to the kitchen before you see or hear him. Leather. Bourbon.

“Hey,” you say, turning to face Dean as he returns to finish making a mug of tea.

“Tea?” Dean asks, already reaching around you to get another mug.

“Please.” Dean brushes and pushes against you slightly as he reaches up for a mug from a nearby cupboard. You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose, but as you get a bigger whiff of his scent, you remember something that feels like it happened a million years ago.

You hadn’t told Sam, but there was one part of the previous twenty four hours that you did remember, though you knew it had all been a dream, except for…

“Dean.”

“Y/N.”

You take a deep breath and are about to ask Dean something about last night, when you realise that he’s not retreated from getting the mug.

“Dean?”

“Y/N?”

“Have we forgotten what personal space happens to be?”

“Uh…” Dean steps back and gives you a sheepish look. Now blushing, Dean hasn’t taken any further steps towards making a mug of tea for you.

“So, yeah, I’d love a mug of tea,” you reiterate, backing carefully out of Dean’s way.

“Right, right,” Dean starts to get on with making the tea, but as you watch him work, you notice that he is doing his best to not turn away from the kitchen counter.

Giving the tea hardly any time to brew, Dean puts your finished mug of tea to one side of the counter to pick up. But still, he doesn’t turned around.

You go over to the counter and accidentally brush your right arm up against Dean’s left.

“Nnnh,” Dean groans.

Stepping away from Dean, holding your mug of tea, you pick up one more scent emanating from the eldest Winchester brother: need.

“Dean?”

Still not budging, his back to you, Dean replies, “Yes?”

“Did you keep watch over me at all, while I was out of it?”

“Yes…” You could tell from Dean’s tone that he had a feeling where this was going.

“Did I do anything while I was out of it?”

“Not while I was there,” Dean replied, but the pitch of his voice was just a bit off.

You start to walk out of the kitchen, tea in tow. “You can be a terrible liar,” you call over your shoulder, beginning to think of what to do about your wardrobe problem and whether you need to mention any of this to Sam.

“Shit,” you hear Dean mutter as your feet carry you away.

*

“Ow,” you cry as you stumble over the gold bars you’d left in storage. You have decided to see if any of the Men of Letters had gone steady enough or had alternative tastes enough to have a collection of dresses stored anywhere. Considering the rest of the supplies in the place, anything was possible.

Rubbing your right foot through your pump, your look up and see an old wooden wardrobe. You’re about to walk over and open it, when you notice the markings painted over the outside. Containment sigils. Instead, you walk past that wardrobe and head deeper into storage.

The first, non-hex, wardrobe is filled with 1950s cut suits, but the second has a few dresses, all surprisingly well-kept, eerily unaged like most of the retro motors in the garage. You pick out several of them and head back to Sam’s room.

*

Approaching the new doorway, you hear the sound of Dean drumming his hands on his thighs as he listens to music in his bedroom. Sam isn’t back yet. You gently lay the dresses out on Sam’s bed and then pull a free standing mirror in front of Sam’s TV.

Quickly finding the taffeta and lace numbers you picked out to be too fancy for your tastes, you pick up a red, simple, but elegant, tea dress. Holding it up against yourself and looking in the mirror, you feel that it does have potential. You start stripping off and are soon just standing in the middle of Sam’s room in your panties.

You begin to pull the red dress over your head. Then you realise that everything has gone eerily quiet.

Leather. Bourbon. Need.

Pulling the dress off of your head and holding it against yourself, you twirl on the spot and find Dean standing in the doorway to Sam’s room. The look on Dean’s face makes it obvious that he likes what he sees.

“How long have you been there?” You ask, trying not to sound pissed off.

“Not long enough,” Dean replies, his voice huskier than usual.

“Um, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with this,” you inform Dean, well aware that the mirror behind you is probably showing a great view of your arse.

Dean takes a step into Sam’s room.

“Are you sure?”

You take a step back from Dean. You swallow hard.

“Well no, if you must know. I’m not sure if I’m ready for polygamous relationships. But I don’t want to find out today - can you respect that?” You ask Dean.

Dean stays just inside the doorway and swallows. “Okay,” Dean replies, before gently backing out of the room and heading back to his own.

Your heart flutters in your chest and your cheeks are warm. You knew Dean was overly protective of his little brother, but you weren’t to sure what he was thinking since he’d gotten the Mark.

*

It was early evening. Dean had loaned Sam the Impala, insisting that you needed to be classy when going out on your first proper date. Sam wasn’t wearing one of his FBI suits, instead he’d actually bought something with the date in mind - it was a pleasant shade of gray, closely fitted, paired with a light blue shirt and a deep green tie. When Sam had seen you in the red dress and a dainty black cardigan, your necklace glinting in the remaining light, you’d gotten butterflies over the way Sam had taken a quick intake of breath.

Now the sun was beginning to set and you were on your first ever real date with Sam, driving along the highway. You try to push thoughts of Dean from out of your mind as you hold on to your purse.


	7. Check Please

The steak house had gone for a strange mix between quaint and modern. Sleek, minimalist surfaces here and there, with wooden kitsch sneaking in everywhere else. It was like the family running it were currently suffering a generational split over how the place should be run. This was perhaps best shown by the menu.

“I think I’m going to go with surf and turf,” Y/N finally decided. Sam isn’t surprised that Y/N is hungry enough for that, knowing that it was more than a day since she’d last eaten.

“Hmmm, I think I’ll go for the steak with blue cheese sauce,” Sam says, putting his menu down. He looks over at Y/N and notices that she’s frowning.

“Sam, are you sure? Are you really, really sure?”

“You got something against blue cheese?”

“It’s just… That stuff is normally so strong that it completely overpowers any flavour you might get from the steak,” Y/N replied, the note of experience in her voice. Taking a quick sip of red wine, Sam saw her give him a look that meant “you’ve-been-warned-don’t-come-stealing-my-food-when-you-are-filled-with-cheesy-regret”.

“Huh… Maybe you’re right. Okay, I’ll have the same as you,” Sam said, picking up the bottle of beer he’d ordered ten minutes earlier, and giving it a swig before waving a male waiter over.

The waiter approached the table, pulling out his order notepad and gave the couple a warming smile. “Have you decided what you would like to have?”

“We’ll both have the surf and turf,” Sam answered,”I’d like my steak medium rare and-”

“The same,” Y/N said.

The waiter smiled again, nodded, writing their down their orders, before taking the menus and disappearing to the kitchen.

“So-” Sam stopped talking, realising that Y/N wasn’t paying him much attention. Instead, she was gazing over at an elderly couple who were in a booth, sharing what looked like an anniversary meal, with champagne on ice, awkwardly trying to take photos of each other via a cellphone.

Reaching over to Y/N, Sam gently touched her right hand, bringing her back to him. “So,” Sam began again, “what do you want to talk about?”

The look Y/N gave Sam as she gazed at him, and considered his question, made Sam’s cheeks begin to burn a little. “How about… truth or dare?” She shot back. “Nothing too outrageous, mind. I don’t want to get barred from here.”

“Okay, okay. Who asks first?”

“You.”

“Alright, truth or dare, Y/N?”

“Truth.”

Sam bit his lower lip as he pondered what to ask Y/N. They’d talked a lot back in her hometown, but they’d hardly scratched the surface of each other’s lives.

“Has Karen ever asked you out?” Sam asked, deciding to fulfill something that had been bugging him since Y/N had let slip that Dean didn’t stand chance with her friend.

“Karen has not. I’m not her type.”

“What’s her type?”

“Someone who’s a bit less… driven.”

“Would you?” Sam asked, seeing if he could get another truth out of Y/N before attention shifted to him.

Giving Sam a no nonsense look, Y/N answered, “I am not answering any more questions until after your turn - truth or dare?”

Suddenly, Sam felt a little scared. They had talked extensively back in Y/N’s hometown, but it had been more a wheeling out of events. Sam hadn’t said much about how things had made him feel, and he’d not said anything yet about what the Gadreel incident had really meant to him. There was a can of worms wiggling in Sam’s stomach and he was beginning to feel a bit queasy. So he took the easy way out.

“Dare,” Sam finally replied.

“I want you to go up to that couple over there,” Y/N pointed over at the couple she’d been watching earlier, “and offer to take a photo of the two of them.”

“Is that it?” Sam asked, amazed at how tame the dare sounded.

“You haven’t seen her looking over at you,” Y/N replied, a little too cockily.

Memories of Sea Pines flood back to Sam and his nostrils flare slightly as he gets up from the table and heads over to the old couple.

“Hi,” Sam says, now stood beside the couple’s booth. “Would you like for me to take a photo of the two of you?”

The lady gazes up at Sam, her face filled with… admiration. The gentleman, on the other hand, seemed to be oblivious to his wife’s feelings.

“Oh, thank you!” Cried the gentleman. “We’re useless at getting this thing to work,” he proffered Sam his cellphone, “It’s our fortieth anniversary.”

“How wonderful,” Sam replied, taking the cell and trying to ignore the way the lady was looking at him.

“Come on dear,” said the gentleman. The pair of them pulled themselves into a couple-like pose. Sam took the picture and handed the cell back. The gentleman studied the photo, smiling. “Look, Pam, it’s a lovely photo.”

The lady looked down at the cellphone screen and studied the photo briefly. “Oh yes, dear, it does,” she answered, her voice airy, as she looked back up at Sam and gave him a huge smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Sam said, excusing himself. He quickly strolled back over to the table Y/N was sat at, just in time for their meals to arrive.

Having thanked the waiter, Sam waited for him to leave their table before glaring at Y/N and saying, “Truth or dare?”

Y/N had begun cutting into her steak. “Truth.”

Sam thought a moment about a question, but then decided he would abandon the one from earlier that was still unanswered. Instead, Sam asked, “Is there a potion that… Oh, I dunno… Um, can make your dick bigger?”

“Why? You’ve got nothing to worry about Sam.”

“Just answer the question,” Sam said, smirking.

“Fine.” Y/N placed a piece of steak into her mouth and chewed it and then swallowed it before answering: “Yes there is.”

“Seriously?! Did anyone ever ask you for it back at the store?”

“You really don’t understand asking one question at a time, do you Sam?”

“Did anyone?” Sam had decided that he needed to know.

“Fine… Yes, I’ve had two customers over the last year who had asked for it. I mixed the stuff up and never heard from them again. But their wives brought over pie.”

“Ha!” Sam laughed and began tucking into his meal and Y/N did the same.

As they ate and drank, Sam couldn’t help smiling to himself as Y/N gently pushed her right knee into his left. That evening was turning into the most normal night that Sam had had in years. It was strange, but it felt good.

“Well, are you going to ask me?” Sam said, as they finished their main meal.

Y/N sipped at her fourth glass of red wine. Her cheeks were flushed. She put the wine glass down and asked: “Truth or dare.”

“Truth - I don’t want you to involve me with that couple again.”

“Who says this is going to be any less awkward - okay, Sam Winchester… Would you ever consider… having… a threesome involving me and a third party of my choice?”

Sam had been taking a swig of his beer, but now he was working hard to stop it from coming out through his nose.

“Are you okay Sam?” Y/N asked, smirking.

Regaining some of his composure, Sam began to contemplate his answer. He wasn’t as… adventurous as Dean, Sam knew that. But still…

“Yes.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at Sam’s response. “Is that your final answer?”

“It is,” Sam said, and as he smiled at Y/N he reached a hand under the table and brushed Y’N’s thigh through the skirt of her dress.

Bmmmph!

Y/N suddenly got up from the table and grabbed her purse. “I need to use the restroom,” she said, before bustling off.

Sam watched as Y/N walked away.

 


	8. Coming Down

It is quiet in the restroom. The steak house hasn’t had many customers that evening. You clutch your purse close to your side, turn on a cold tap and splash some water at your face. The water feels good. And then you smell it. Sulphur. You quickly wipe away what you can from your face with a paper towel and turn around.

“Good to see you again,” Crowley growls.

You appraise the King of Hell. He looks better than when you last saw him, less sweaty, but you can tell there’s definitely something not quite right about him, as far as you can tell for demons.

“The missus got your tongue?” Crowley teases, taking a step closer.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting to see you here… and I think you might have heard: but I’m cut-off.”

“Yes, I am aware that our previous business dealings are no longer Moose approved.” Crowley takes another step towards you.

“Look, Crowley, what do you want?”

Crowley takes another step towards you and you can feel his breath on your face. You can see every bristle of hair on the demon’s visage. Smell the scotch and the human blood coming off of him in waves.

“Do you take credit?” Crowley asks.

“You need more gold?” You ask, surprised.

“Perhaps.” Crowley leans his face closer to yours.

“Or, do you,” you ask with a whisper, leaning in so that you’re almost touching his face, inhaling his scents, “need your own little pick-me-up, get-me-out-of-my-needy-little-rut?”

Crowley breathes deeply and leans in closer. Your faces are now touching, side-by-side. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“I don’t indulge in business when I’m on a date,” you whisper into Crowley’s ear.

“Touche.”

“What do you want, Crowley?”

“Gold. Whatever you can manage.”

“Then you should have just said…”

Carefully, you step to the side and turn away from Crowley. Reaching under the sinks you find the stop clock and turn off the water going to the sinks. Then, with little effort or thought to your wellbeing, you pull at the copper pipes underneath and tease one free, feeling muscles and tendons snap and tear.

“You could have asked,” Crowley teases from behind you. The copper pipe is already a length of shimmering gold in your hand, you come up and give Crowley the pipe. You feel the damage already healed.

“You owe me.”

Before Crowley can reply you leave the restroom and quickly walk over to where Sam has been patiently waiting for you.

“Hey,” Sam says as you stand beside his seat.

“Can we pay the bill and go?”

“Sure… is everything okay?” Sam asks, getting up from his seat.

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

*

It’s not until you’re at least a town away that Sam insists on you telling him what’s wrong.

“Crowley visited me in the restroom,” you state.

Without warning, Sam suddenly pulls the Impala off of the highway and puts it in park beside the road. Turning to you, concern and horror flooding his face, Sam asks, “He didn’t try to sell you _anything_ did he?”

“No, but he owes me for some gold.”

Sam allows some relief to show on his face, but you know he’s still concerned.

“What does he need gold for?”

“War funds?” You guess.

Considering your answer, Sam, takes the Impala out of park and begins to pull away and start back towards the Bunker once more. You ride in silence for a few miles, before you can no longer take it and turn on the car’s stereo. Led Zeppelin blasts out and you screw up your face until you manage to dial it back to a manageable volume.

*

The Bunker is silent as the pair of you clamber inside. The incident room is lit up, but Dean is nowhere to be seen, as the pair of you walk down the entry stairs.

“Y’know, this night doesn’t have to end yet,” Sam says from behind you.

You think of the myriad of things that this could mean, but you decide not to make things easy for Sam. No, not at all easy.

“Wait here,” you say as you rush off towards Sam’s bedroom.

Reaching the doorway, you hear Dean drumming his thighs again in his bedroom. Entering Sam’s bedroom, you hunt through your things, ignoring your chest, and find what you’re looking for: a box of Risk.

Taking your purse and the board game box back with you to the incident room, you try to ignore the strange look that Sam gives you as you reenter the room.

“Uh, what is that?” Sam asks as you put the box down on the table.

“Risk, it’s a game where you try to take over the world,” you state simply, holding back a smirk.

“Beat me at this and you can do _whatever_ you want with me, but if I win, I get to do _whatever_ I want with you,” you let the implied meaning hang there and you can hear Sam audibly gulp.

“Okay.”

You begin to set up the board on the big table, dividing the pieces. Sam sits down beside you.

“Just so you know, I have never played this before,” Sam says. You can tell from his voice that he’s not sure which outcome he would prefer.

“That’s fine, but I should warn you now: this game might take all night.”

“All night?” Sam repeats, his eyes growing wide.

*

It’s three in the morning, and you’re on your third cup of coffee. There’s Red Laces slowly being devoured from a nearby bowl. Sam got the Laces after he started biting his nails while concentrating on the game.

Currently you’re winning, but you know from experience how swiftly the tide could turn. Chatter had been generally friendly between the two of you over the course of the night, but Sam had an idea of what you were likely to want. And you could smell the slight scent of fear emanating from Sam, mixing with his usual scents.

You don’t hear it at first, but then you realise that your cell is vibrating in your purse.

“Is that your cell?” Sam asks as you begin to dig through the contents of your purse to reach your phone.

Finding the phone, you look at the caller ID and then press answer. Putting the phone to your ear you ask, “Karen?”

Karen’s breathing is rapid and panicked. “Y/N?” Karen’s voice whispers over the line, “Please, I need you. They won’t stop… they won’t stop. I need you to co-”

The line goes dead. “Karen? KAREN?!” You scream, but it’s no use.

Sam grabs you by the shoulders. “Y/N, is Karen okay?”

You stare at the silent cell in your hand. “No,” is all you manage to say.

You can feel Sam taking control of the situation and you’re grateful. “I’ll go wake up Dean, he can drive. You pack what you need. I’ll track Karen’s cell and grab some gear and we’ll go within the hour.”

You nod and numbly get up from your seat. The game of Risks remains on the table, unfinished. Making for Sam’s bedroom to pack, as Sam jobs past you so that he can get Dean, you try to figure out what kind of trouble could have found Karen.

You don’t want to be scared.

But you can’t help it.


End file.
